


Through an Opaline Window

by MountainRose



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Alternate Universe - Historical, Ancient Rome, Genie billionaire playboy philanthropist, Inspired by Aladdin (1992), JARVIS DUME and BUTTERFINGERS make an appearance, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obadiah gets his comeupance, Steve is too pure, ancient warfare, genie!tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainRose/pseuds/MountainRose
Summary: Tony Stark has been a genie for a long, long time. He's got rules, morals, for the wishes he grants.And how he grants them.Lucky for everyone Sarah Rogers is a good person, and has raised a good son.





	Through an Opaline Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [athletiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/gifts), [Serenity514](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenity514/gifts).



> Prompted by Serenity(darkangel102860) and athletiger, beta'd by tiger,
> 
> Thank you guys so much!! :D this prompt really swept me away <3

The bottle, being a corner of spacetime coiled around a wish, is simultaneously miniscule and actually quite spacious. Tony wished a chain into his handle early on, and now the poor schmucks who pick him up can't lose him down the back of the tent anymore. Being passed around families, even unused because he got too creative with his wish granting, is one thing, but spending a hundred years in a sand dune is the true meaning of boring.

He'd run out of brass first, since Dummy was made of it, and then he'd had to get creative and make things out of the sand that trickled in through the lamp's spout. Butterfingers was considerably more beautiful than Dummy, so _then_ he'd had to go back and give Dummy enough etchings and filagree to keep a sultan happy.

Of course, JARVIS was above such considerations, possibly because just as he was getting the magicule conductivity fine tuned on his etched mainframe, Tony had been found again.

Thus began another hundred or so years of being the silent power handed down between kings. They'd been decent sorts, wishing for simple things like good rainfall, and the cure to crop blights, so Tony hadn't twisted a wish in a long time when the dynasty ended.

Then he was picked up by Stane, and ohhh that had it's fun. Sure, kill the masters he’d been watching over for a hundred years, _sure_.

The first wish was:

"I wish to be an all powerful king!"

So Tony had snapped his fingers and made the entire nation incapable of making a decision without Stanes input. The line hit the city walls before the sun was up. Stane had reveled at first, but only at first.

The second wish was for wealth, in heaping piles, which Tony didn't even have to twist: the price of gold plummeted, leaving the city paved in it, but Stane unable to buy bread nor wine.

Cackling and full of righteous fury, Tony waited for the third with glee.

The country crumbled, citizens packing up their riches and becoming gold merchants that spread from the city in a glittering stream as they sought better pastures.

Stane, superficially rich, and nominally powerful, despaired and changed his tactics, wishing instead to be immortalised as the greatest man of an era.

Tony, his smoke dark and eyes hidden behind the blue sparks of his magic, agreed.

Obadiah Stane became a marble statue, immortal, and a single inch taller than the next tallest man of the age.

Satisfied by this, Tony broke his chain from the statues neck and fell back into the lamp as it tumbled across the crimson rug, expecting he would be left in peace for at least a while.

Stane had not been quiet about his use of the genie, the people of the city knew well how Tony had ravaged the once powerful man, so when he was picked up, it was to be put in a glass case, unsummoned but with a delightful view of the cities other treasures.

Who had become sultan was unknown, and what stories had been written of him, he could not discern. He waited in loud contemplation, teaching JARVIS to play the pipes, and Dummy to etch magicule circuits.

One of these pursuits went better than the other, alas.

By the time he was summoned again, he was in the hands of a mother.

He billowed forth from the lamp, filling the room with midnight blue smoke and towering over the trembling, red-eyed woman who had snuck into the treasure room in’t dead of night.

She trembled, but her feet were set square and firm, and her eyes shone with a leonine violence, a loyalty that Tony immediately approved of.

Speaking from near the vaulted ceiling, the light of his magic casting her shadow jagged and shrunken, he asked the Question.

She gritted her teeth, and breathed deep. "My son is dying. Please, save him! Save him and I will face any consequence I deserve!"

This was not a wish, but it was something Tony felt his heart lighten to hear. He could do this, and do it without consequences.

"Do you wish it, Sarah Rogers? This one small thing?"

"I do. Only this, his life, for a normal life--"

He shrank down to look her in the eye, the great and terrible light fading until he could see her in the more pleasant light of the candle she had brought.

She was true. Determined and unselfish. He reached out and touched her arm, eyes soft and smiling gently.

"Then this is your first wish. For Steve Rogers to live a healthy, normal life. Say it."

She swallowed, their eyes locked in a powerful moment, and nodded. "I wish for Steve to live a healthy, normal life."

The world breathed in, and shifted somewhere out of sight. Tony smiled, and released her, pleased. "Done. You need not fear consequences, it's a good wish."

She shivered and nodded, looking down at his lamp, clutched delicately in her hands. "I should put you back..."

"With two wishes remaining? No, no, wear me, let me see the city, until you are once again in need. The lamp will only follow you, bring me to you, in any case."

She breathed deep and put the chain over her head. It repaired itself and Tony watched it settle against her Asclepian snakes. He nodded, mostly to himself, and begun to fade into smoke.

"I'll be listening, Sarah Rogers. Two more wishes."

He returned to the lamp, to his tiny, spacious workshop and it's single opaline window out onto the world, and he watched the city go by as she returned home.

There, in a small bed, her son was sitting up and eating bread and honey, smiling from ear to ear, and Tony closed the shutter on his porthole to give them their privacy.

* * *

Very few genie bearers had ever died with wishes remaining.

Sarah Rogers was his first.

Tony, clutched in Steve's fist, listened to the ceremony with fat tears in his eyes.

He would have healed the city for her, but she had never called him again. He would have made her well, for Steve's sake, but she hadn't needed him, and while Steve may have cried, he hadn't gone against her wishes.

A pure death, with two wishes remaining. Tony shuffled them sadly into Steve's three wishes, a silent inheritance that he wouldn't ever mention.

* * *

Steve wore his lamp diligently, and one day years later, with a fine cloth, cleaned it. Tony, bored by the day in Steve's home with no one but the great muscular lump to listen to, took this as close enough and frothed out of the lamp.

Smoke billowed over the floor and under the furniture, blue and thick as five-fathom ocean. Tony rose from the waves in a swirl of brighter, denser magic and regarded the tiny house with interest. Distorted glimpses through the opal lid of his lamp did not do the place justice; it was even more shabby and loved than he had appreciated.

Steve, frozen in place with a look of knowing self-recrimination, looked momentarily small. Tony adjusted his own size accordingly and kicked his smoke into a tidy bundle that he sat on, perched comfortably in midair.

"So! Three wishes, great cosmic power, etcetera, etcetera. You interested?"

Steve gaped. "You saved me when I was little, didn't you? I always thought mom was ...no, well, I _believed_ her, but..."

Tony waved through the air, leaving a smoky picture of Sarah in the treasure room behind his hand. "She was very noble, she deserved her happiness."

Steve looked away, and resumed cleaning the lamp, wrapping a stick in the cleaning cloth and working it into one of the tiny hinges the held the opal lid. It tickled distantly.

"She... we all know what you're capable of doing to someone."

"Stane was a monstrosity, I won't make out that I'm sorry," Tony told him, watching his hands carefully clean out a single grain of sand.

"No, it was justice. A selfish man." He paused, twisting the edge of the cloth. "I won't make a wish, genie. I... I wouldn't know what to wish for."

Tony looked back up, and saw something burning behind Steve's eyes. Something confused, conflicted. Lonely.

They sat in silence. Tony undid and redid the plait in his hair, moving the beads back into their proper place. Steve said nothing further and the light in his eyes calmed, mysteriously.

"There, you are all polished, I'll stop bothering you now."

Tony's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really appreciate it, nice to look one’s best. I'll just... Head back inside shall I?"

Steve smiled, awkward, but then hesitated as he held the lamp out, pulling it back towards himself. "Would you-- would you like something to eat before you got back? Do you eat? I could leave offerings at the shrine too--"

Tony followed Steve's gesture. "So that's why the view never changes when we're home! Yes, yes, I eat, please do not feel obliged, nor would i need more than a taste, but that... That would be lovely."

* * *

So Steve left him offerings of whatever delicious thing he had found that day, and Tony was delighted. Steve went out of his way to make sure there was something different and new most days, and cleaned the tiny lamp every Saturday morning.

Tony took the excuse to emerge, offer wishes in a vague desultory way, then ask Steve precisely what the man was doing to that poor coin, or what the new food had been.

The coin, which Steve worked on with a jewelers hammer every Saturday after cleaning the lamp, was steadily becoming a pure gold bowl. Steve said it would be perfect for offerings for Tony, but that Tony would have to wait until the engraving was finished before he got to use it.

They did run into a minor problem, in that the bowl had no foot and would wobble like an upturned turtle, but Tony lent a hand to the metalworking and soon they had it fixed.

"How is the price of gold these days?" Tony mused, lying on his smoke with a bundle of mint leaves on his chest. They smelled delightful.

"Steadily returning to normal. People still travel with it though, and come back with stories of amazing places. It'll be worth replacing the gutters with lead soon, but we aren't bothering just yet."

Tony 'hmmm'ed. "One must be dreadfully careful when granting wishes, you know, so that the consequences are righteous. That much gold-- if Hatt'an hadn't been up in the mountains, almost invasion proof, I would have just dropped the gold on his awful bald head and had done with it."

Steve choked on a laugh and tilted the coin bowl for Tony to inspect. "I'm glad you are smarter than you look then, I wouldn't want to be invaded just for a soft, useless metal like gold."

"Here, if it's so worthless, why are you making my offering bowl from it?!" Tony objected. The bowls foot looked fine though, so he pushed it back to Steve.

"Because true worth isn't measured in hardness or utility, there is so much more to the world than that." He flipped the delicate, thinly hammered metal over, to show the engraving on the inner surface.

A nymph danced in a curl of lines that could be wind, or water, or sand, her hair and clothes blending into the twist with a seamless elegance.

Sarah.

"Sometimes, it's the very softness, and uselessness of something is that which makes it beautiful."

Tony felt himself pinned in place by eyes just as fierce and honest as Sarah Rogers' had been, twenty years ago.

"Oh." Tony blinked back water, his throat tight.

"I'm not going to make a wish, Tony. Not for myself."

"But you'll let me save the city, right? If something happens..."

They were very close by that point, Tony's smoke mingling around Steve's feet.

"Of course. I'll keep my wishes safe, for that 'what if'; quiet and secret."

Tony blinked and broke out into a wide smile, happiness fizzing up from his belly. "I think you're beautiful too, you know," he said, setting his palm on Steve's chest, since they were close enough. "Like bright iron, fresh from the forge."

Steve smiled brilliantly. "Are you saying I'm useful, mister genie? I'm honoured."

Tony sniffed in mock affront, turning up his nose but stepping ever closer to compensate. "Someone has to carry my lamp, I can hardly be expected to--"

Steve leaned in and cut him off with a gentle, lingering kiss. Warmth spread through Tony's magic, turning his smoke the colour of shallow, warm ocean over golden sand.

"I will carry you to the end of tomorrow and back, if you'll have me, Tony."

"Then please, take me where you will, Steve; I can't think of anyone better for the job."

* * *

War was somewhat of an inevitability down on the plains.

Steve, Tony hanging around his neck, dropped into the grass to hide his silhouette and watched the fighting from a distance, trying to work out if who was who and if it was just the damn nobles squabbling again. He tapped the lamp gently. "Tony, there's trouble."

Tony whispered out of the pendant lamp, landing gently on his knees in the grass and staying low next to Steve, out of sight for now.

"Looks like the horse-people to me?"

Steve nodded. "I've never seen anyone else shoot like that. It must be. Can you see the troop banner from here?"

Tony pulled out a brass and glass contraption and pointed it at the fighting. "Oh! It's your friend's group, the border guards from the north gate. Wonder what they're doing down here."

Steve's heart lurched into his throat and he shot forward out of the cover of the grass. "We'll ask when we get there! Come on!"

"Wait, Steve! You don't even have a weapon!" Tony yelled after him.

Steve didn't slow down, using the slope to gain momentum and jumping over the ditch-edge of a field. "I'll pick something up, Tony, get back in the lamp!"

Tony shrank down to a wine-dark scrap and clung to his lamp, trailing smoke behind them briefly. "I made you strong, not immortal! Don't you dare get stabbed!"

"I won't."

They came amidst the fighting at full pelt, breaking through the line of the raiders and spooking a horse into rearing up. Steve dove out of the way of the flailing hooves and scooped up a dead man's shield. Tony muttered unhappily and sunk further into the lamp, a bare scrap of blue smoke. Steve put his back to the Hatt'an soldiers and just in time; the shield shuddered with the force of an arrow.

"Captain Danvers! Bucky! What's going on!?"

No answer.

He fielded an attack from a lancer, flinging the lance down to jam into the ground at his feet while the rider danced his horse away. He felt shoulders at his back and set his feet more firmly.

"Good to see you, Steve. Cap's over thataway. With the phalanx."

"Wade, good to see you still alive. Brace!"

A galloping horse put a great deal of force behind a mace, and Steve’s borrowed shield splintered, barely held together by the bronze bracing. Wade’s shoulders pressed against his back were all that kept him on his feet during the impact.

"Hah! I'm unkillable, Rogers." He fended off the next rider while Steve covered them against the bowmen further out. “You’ll get stuck here if you stay much longer, go.”

A raider on foot, either unhorsed or from the wagons, lunged at Steve with an iron-point spear in the Roman style, stolen from the Hatt'an lines. Steve jammed the shield onto the point and with the barb fully through the splintering wood, dragged the shield back and stole the spear right out of the raiders hands. The man backed off to rearm.

"Okay,” Steve said, ripping the spear back out of the ruined shield and hefting it in his right hand. “Going on three.”

Wade raised his weapons, set his feet, and screamed when Steve hit three, bellowing like an enraged stallion, inhuman, and drawing the eyes of every horse for a hundred paces.

Steve split off during the distraction, leaving Wade to scare the horses out of their minds, and headed right, towards the throng of Hatt'ans. Carol, bright golden helm glinting, caught his eye first and he scooped up a bronze shortsword to fight his way to her.

"You're all mad," Tony muttered from the lamp, tinny and distressed. "Oh gosh that's blood isn't it?"

Steve grimaced and took the time to tuck his neckerchief over Tony's lamp. "It is. Sorry, love. Bear with it for me."

"Oh, it's like that, delicate little genie, can't handle the sight of blood, better tuck him away safe--"

"You can watch if you want." Steve said, hands occupied by stabbing a raider in the thigh and ducking his horse's confused flail of hooves.

"Oh god, the sound... I feel faint, no thank you. Steve, please, just one wish?"

Steve swallowed hard, fear rippling up his spine. "If it gets bad, I promise. But not...not without dire need."

Infantry against cavalry was a strange battle, clumped where groups of infantry had closed ranks to resist lancers charges. Carol was front and center of one such group, a tight wall of shields in the Roman method, bristling with spears like the one Steve had pulled out of his shield.

The archers harried the groups from a distance, horseback and thundering into range and out again before the longbowmen could destroy them with their greater range. Lancers charged in with less success; the infantry was holding strong so far and the bristling spears from within the phalanx kept mounts at bay.

"Captain!" He bellowed, over the roar of battle, hefting his shield over his head as more arrows peppered the grass and shields around him.

"Steve! What the fuck are you doing out there, get in line." His countrymen parted, folding him swiftly into the phalanx. Someone from the back thrust a better shield into his hand and he swapped with relief.

Steve slotted himself, and his shield, in beside her.

He saw no sign of Bucky.

"I was foraging! For shellac. What's happening?!" Steve and the rest of the line braced their shields and ducked their heads as a hail of bronze tip arrows sunk into the shield wall.

"Slave raiders. Been preying on our merchants. We're looking to wipe them off the map."

Steve rolled his shoulders and set his neck. "That's a fight I can get behind. Bucky?"

"Center mass. Down when you hear 'draw' and he might not shoot you in the head."

Steve grinned, set his feet and slotted the stolen spear into the notch on the shield. "Alright then."

Carol's grin flashed from under the gold-plated steel and she straightened, chest expanding as she drew breath to shout. "DRAW!"

The shield line ducked down in unison and behind them, in the fourth row of the formation, the archers rose. In the center of the line, Bucky stood tall, his bow arching over his head, a full six feet long. The creaking of bowstrings drew the battlefield into sudden silent anticipation, horsemen wheeling to get out of range, footmen scrambling for shields--

All too slow. The archers loosed and death flew. The driver of a war chariot fell tumbling and his horses screamed and fled, the chariot breaking as they thundered in different directions. Footmen fell left and right, thinning the enemy, and earning them space to breathe.

"FORM UP!" Carol bellowed, and the wall rose, shield edges clattering and ringing, bronze on bronze. The riders, with their shorter recurve bows, retaliated and beside Steve, a man fell, swearing. Steve hauled him out of the line, grimacing, and men from the second rank took their place. The injured man pulled out the arrow and another pressed hard on the wound; as good as it would get for now. Steve headed back into the line, hefting his spear.

The fighting drew out, neither party able to retreat. On foot, Carol couldn't move without losing the archers and shield wall, while the raiders were led forward by a huge, angry bear of a man, driven into a froth. He stayed back, but as Carol drew the clustered groups of shield wall back together and reformed the battalion, he grew angered. Reckless.

"Steve, what's happening?" Tony hissed. The lamp had grown warm against Steve's skin with Tony's jittering.

"They're going to try and break the shieldwall."

Tony hissed like a steam kettle. "The archers."

"Yeah. It would tip the balance too far in their favor to move now. We'll have to tough it out."

Steve watched warily as the enemy formed a solid spear of horses, the leader mounted up at its tip. A huge axe was handed up to him once he had his monster of a horse under control.

A siege weapon itself, the horse was taller than a man at the shoulder.

Steve swallowed.

"Tony..."

"Three wishes, Steve. Steel your heart and choose well."

He braced his sword in his shield hand and hefted the spear, hoping he and Carol would be able to halt the monster horse before it broke the line.

"I will. I love you."

Tony hissed like he'd been burnt. "Not like that! Your mother did it, so can you! Word it well, and I'll be able to--"

"Aren't you going to say it?" Steve asked, world narrowing and darkening as he drew his focus tight on the axe bearer.

A growl of wordless frustration and the ghost sensation of a hug around his neck. "I love you too, you star-damned idiot."

Steve huffed a laugh, grinning in the face of the gathering force.

The horses began to advance, a wall of flesh and weapons that shook the earth.

"DRAW!" Carol called, and the archers fired a dense volley into oncoming mass. Crouched behind his shield, Steve couldn't see the oncoming horses, but he watched Bucky draw and loose three times before Carol ordered them back up. Horses and men had fallen, tangling the men who rode behind, but the momentum of the charge had not lessened, and the leader sat tall, axe raised.

Steve dug his boots into the earth and set his stolen spear to the edge of his shield. There was no stopping the horse at these speeds, but if he could take the rider--

The first horse struck the line.

Chaos erupted and it was all Steve could do to aim his spear into the enemy leaders body. It struck at caught _something,_ and ripped free from his grip, but neither horse nor rider slowed. They ploughed into the thick of the men behind Steve, and Steve had the next horse, and next after that to contend with.

Hooves with heavy iron shoes flew about his ears, sword and lance collided with a bone-aching crash, and nothing made sense any longer.

He ran a man through, sword reluctant to pull out again, and used the shield to bash away another attack. His next strike lost him the sword entirely, lodged against bone somewhere and torn from his hand when the man's horse reared, trapped in the tight crush, and fell over backwards in its panic. Horses and men churned the earth into a mire, footing treacherous. Steve stole a riders pike and--

The shield wall was broken.

His flank was undefended.

Struck across the shoulder by something blunt and heavy, unseen in the chaos, Steve stumbled and fell on his back amidst flying hooves. A spear plunged deep into his belly.

For an awful, still moment, he stared his attacker in the face; terrified watery blue eyes through the slot in his helmet. Then, the horse had carried his away and the spear and was ripped free again, blood flowing freely through Steve’s desperate fingers.

He stared frozen at the sky, pain whiting out the edges of his vision until all he could see was the brilliant blue of the zenith.

" _STEVE!"_ Bucky bellowed, full of rage, but when Steve looked, Bucky stood silent, left arm gone and chest cleaved open by the same strike of the axe. His face had gone slack and empty, and he fell out of sight in the madness.

Winded and gasping, dying, he clutched at the lamp and rubbed his thumb across the opal lid.

The world fell still, flying arrows frozen in midair.

"I wish--" he wheezed, lungs seizing. "I wish we could survive this!"

" _Done, Steven Rogers._ "

Tony swirled forth, a gout of midnight sky that blotted out the sun and the blood, cut all sound but the gasping rattle of Steve's lungs.

"You… even on the brink of death, you think of others. Love you."

Steve smiled and slumped back to the grass, now clean and fresh, soft beneath his head. The world spun gently, softened alike to the quiet embrace of deep dawn, when even the beasts sleep.

Steadily, the pain abated and his breaths slowed, peace wearing away the raw battlefield fire in his veins. Tony's warmth returned, a gentle palm smoothed over his hair and Steve breathed easy in the quiet.

"There. All the living will remain as such, and even the dead are worthy of being seen by their families. A good use of a wish, Steve. There will be no twist to this one."

"I'm glad. Did Bucky--"

“He lives, though the arm is dead. Technicalities."

"Damn those universal laws," Steve choked, finally daring to roll over and put his head in Tony's lap. Tony wrapped around him, soft and sweet. If Steve cried a little, Tony would not begrudge him.

"Could you fix it? If…"

Tony hummed, noncommittal. "There are ways that don't break the laws. Do you wish it? It will have to be a different arm, a new one."

Steve pressed a hand to his torn belly, to a once lethal wound, and found painless skin. Relief shuddered through him and he opened his eyes.

Tony, as human as he ever appeared, looked down at him with a worried furrow between his brows. After a moment of mutual staring, it eased and Tony smacked him firmly on the shoulder. "Just lend me to him, let him wish up his own arm."

"No, Tony, you're not a ...slave, or a _thing_ to be loaned." He drank in the sight of him, of his kind eyes and gentle smile. The way he brushed away his freedom had grown old, and now, one wish gone, Steve finally breathed out that final tension, the decision settling in his belly like warm honey, no matter what would come.

He gripped Tony by the hand, fierce, and held his gaze.

"I wish Bucky a new arm, and Tony? I wish you free."

Power crackled over the grass and Tony turned to smoke under his head.

Steve relaxed onto his back, healed and comfortable, and watched the midnight blue of Tony's magic boil overhead.

" _Steven Rogers, your wish is my command."_

The dark richness of the smoke burst away, flying into the horizon and leaving the churning mass of magic an unreal, rich blue. Slowly, Tony drifted down from his cloud, tears streaming down over the fingers he'd clasped to his mouth. He landed on the grass beside Steve and fell immediately to his knees, like his legs were weak. When his hands pulled away from his mouth, a delighted laugh bubbled free and he quickly covered his mouth again. His eyes shone, disbelieving delight.

"You miracle creature, Steven Rogers," he whispered, leaning down to kiss Steve on the forehead.

Steve scrunched up his face. "Sounds weird without the booming voice."

"Yes, well," Tony said, fidgeting with Steve's hair like he was anxious. "Without the Contract enforcing it, it's different."

Steve shuffled up to his elbows, feeling soft and new-made, and tugged Tony back in for a proper kiss, the kind that left them both breathless. "You're free."

Tony's eyes lit up anew, his body thrumming with delighted exuberance. "Oh my god, I'm _free!"_

He zapped into sparkling smoke, blue and purple and a bright, shimmering pink, and zoomed into the sky with a great snapping crackle of glee. All around Steve, men and women of the guard roused from the strangeness of genie magic and patted their bodies, looking for wounds than no longer existed.

Tony scribed a spiral overhead in brilliant gold then zipped down and, mysteriously, turned one soldier's hair bright blue.

Beside him, Carol sat up and levered off her helmet. "Holy fuck, Rogers. Is he yours?"

"Not anymore!" Steve crowed in delight, wobbling to his feet and trailing his fingers through the gold and blue curtain of sparks as Tony shot past him. He pushed through the bemused crowd to get to Bucky, and found Tony there too, sparking and dripping blue magic all over him.

"--the arm, and it'll be able to-- oh, hello Steve!" Tony snapped human in a soft puff of blue. "I'll make them for anyone who needs one, but _yours_ is wish powered, it'll be the _very finest._ "

Steve just kept walking until he crashed into the both of them, wrapping his arms around them and squeezing tight.

_Fin_


End file.
